Fragments
by Wander World
Summary: Lockdown has long been a mysterious being, traversing the Universe and keeping to himself. However, when a ghost from his past returns to haunt the present, he finds himself confronting the very demons he had once created as this new figure struggles to move on. (AU of Movieverse combined with Aligned continuity) Rated T for violence.
1. Prologue

**To anyone bothering to read this...**

**The framework: **

**This story is based on the Movieverse, with the most recent film being Age of Extinction. However, I am combining this with the Aligned and IDW continuities, so it will a little different from the norm. Most of the characters will be those you've seen already, though their appearances and personalities may be different (this is Movieverse, after all). Also, the beginning of the story will be taking place before the Transformers first arrive on Earth. **

**Feel free to leave any feedback you want!**

**(Also, sorry about the lengths of the next few chapters. I'll try to shorten future uploads). **

**Prologue**

_Upon the still plain of stone, nothing moves. Only hollow echoes answer the calls of the cruel wind, borne of the north. Nothing living ever comes here, either by day or by night. And by night, no light can ever cast back the shadowy veil, and cast forth into knowledge all things, great and terrible, that dwell there. The stars twinkle with adamantine distance, shining with a cold knowledge in the sky. _

_Eternity sleeps. Death haunts this consecrated ground, rejoicing in its spoils. _

_Bones, like ages-old relics, poke out of the soil, their shambles creating a wasteland of forgotten horror. Like old seers of the truth, their skulls stare blindly into the wastes. They are silent. They do not forget. _

_Hidden away in this land of silence, a monolithic fortress erupts from the shadows, its walls tipped with nightmares of suffering and dreams of steel. Empty skeletons lean upon the ramparts, still clutching the swords and shields they once wielded in life. _

_They no longer reign. They have ceded their vigil to a more watchful entity. _

_The shadows mutter in their silent tongue, sleepless and wary. Something is stirring where it should not. _

_At the gate, carved stone reflects horrors of a battle long ended, telling what the corpses could not. Its silver spikes leave the way open, beckoning. The path is no longer shut. Here the bones end, giving way to a featureless, grey dust. It could once have been ash. _

_Past the barrier, nightmares spring to life. Corridors wind and turn, no longer regarding any rule of sanity. Old treasures lie inside dark rooms, rusting in their place. They, too, have been lost to the ravages of time. _

_A dead wind slumbers, burdened with knowledge. It cannot tell, but it can show. Howling, it runs through the emptiness, a voice of ghouls past. It leads on and on, past sunken crypts leaden with desiccated remains, past iron swords blunted by time and crumbling pillars of stone. As it reaches deeper, mists begin to form, lending unlikely shape to hidden terrors that once roamed the night. They hiss and screech, once more on the prowl. _

_Inside the inner reaches of the depths, there is only one force in power. The darkness sanctifies its very ground, consecrates its stones. It muddles the water and deepens the cracks, yielding nothing. All at once and forever, it is compelled to obey, compelled to disobey. Nothing knows yet, but it has a master, one reviled by even eternity itself. _

_At the heart of the shadows, a throne leers out of the dark, wicked and cruel. Spikes thrust upwards, growing like roots towards the arched ceiling high above. Shining gold draws lines of liquid light upon the edifice, rebelling against the omnipotent gloom. _

_The figure seated upon the throne is ancient, its bones far older than the fortress itself. Its sunken sockets, gaping like black holes in its skull, once beheld the coming of Time, witnessed the birth of this universe, and saw its inevitable end. _

_And in it, it saw itself, the darkness that had existed for eons before Time, which had once existed and now exists and will exist. _

_It saw the end. And it spoke. _

_Through a voice that creaked and groaned with senescence, three words were whispered into the air, only to be snatched away by the mocking wind. _

I will return.


	2. Chapter 1

For all the light this universe contains, there are also shadows cast from the path, forever to stand as an opposite to their creator. Lockdown had once learned that lesson, millennia ago, and he remembered it, standing upon the bridge of his personal, albeit commandeered, ship.

Being a bounty hunter was in no way motivated by principles, however. Lockdown had never joined in a fight out of a sense of justice or revenge, because belief did not suit his calculating exterior. No, he was always involved for the reward, and the higher it was, the greater his dedication. Whoever worked the hardest got what they deserved, including his crew. It was justice of a sort, a cold blade that cut the weak down to make room for the strong, and which Lockdown wielded against his prey.

Such as now, the engines of the _Knight's Temenos_ rumbling as the onset of a storm bearing down upon the smaller, angular Cybertronian vessel, lurching forward like a spear at the end of its momentum. All around the latticed framework of Lockdown's cockpit, flak and debris blew apart in a deadly display of warfare, and then clustered together to drift eternally. Cannons soundlessly thundered back and forth, the vibrations jolting every mech on the ship down to the bolt and screws.

The battle had taken place for four hours, an impressive display given the target's deteriorating condition. In all honesty, the only reason the ship had gotten this far was due to its maneuverability, as it dodged and evaded every capture attempt. Once it realized there was no losing the mercenary, however, its pitiful attempt at a fight was short-lived. Following proper protocol, which had been developed throughout their careers, the crew had targeted the engines first, stranding the ship - and its captain. Next to go was the communication antenna, situated near the rear per design.

Now they were targeting the hull, each missile burning through the meters-thick metal as if it was aluminum foil. Gradually, a warm, orange glow spread as thick globules of molten slag rose into the void, each one spinning like a miniature sun. For a moment, Lockdown wondered if this was how his employers saw the universe, small and insignificant compared to them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a mercenary, a sword sheathed within a tank barrel on his back, his gaze focused on his captain. Serrated armor covered the being from processor to toe, protruding outwards in razor-sharp thorns. His faceplate resembled a knight's, with a visor through which two red dots peeked forth. The rest of the facial features were shrouded in shadow, shedding little light on the mech's identity.

"Gunnery station reports: the hull has lost all integrity. We're free to head in."

Lockdown turned towards the stranger, with a skeletal grin that would have made Megatron shudder.

"Send them in, Bludgeon."

* * *

><p>The screams of the wounded and dying greeted Wreck-Gar as he sat up, dizzy and disoriented by the wreckage surrounding him. Sparks fizzed and flashed over burning flames, the only illumination within the twisted and shattered metal that had caved in the bridge. The junk warrior was little better off; his armor, which was normally a rusty mismatch of multiple shoulder blades, a metal grille covering his truck torso, and various other tidbits, had fused together in the extreme heat until each piece was indistinguishable from one another. Scorch marks and dents marred his chassis, and – worst of all – his trademark moustache had been singed off.<p>

The battle was not going well.

The Junkion leader grunted as he got to his feet, shoving off a fragment of a metal plate in the process. Suddenly, he felt pain pierce his side. Glancing down, he beheld a metal shard, which had lodged itself in his abdomen. Metallic-blue Energon dripped from the wound, each drop reflecting the orange glow of the devastation around Wreck-Gar.

_How punctual, _he though as he rummaged through the ship's remains – it was always junk, anyways – and felt the hilt of a weapon. One hard yank produced a wicked war axe, gunmetal grey, with blades serrated and sharp.

It was hard not to smile at his sudden turn of fortune.

* * *

><p>The lifeless frames of friend and foe alike littered the corridor ahead of Lockdown, yet he never paid any heed to the surrounding carnage. The real battle had long ago moved on, leaving devastation in its wake. Scorch marks along the walls and on the floor indicated a quick advance from the boarding parties, which had gotten in close enough for hand-to-hand combat.<p>

Only a few looters drifted amongst the dead, picking their chassis slots clean of any weapons or items still of value. Striding over towards the stragglers, Lockdown spotted a certain red and orange mech, still in an alt form that resembled a cross between a bipedal dragon and a deranged praying mantis.

"Did the battle disgust you, Repugnus, or are you actually cleaning up your mess for once?"

Two green optics, glowing with an unquenchable wrath, looked up from their fixation upon the scraps. "Look around you. They were pushovers, all right. I had to persuade a few of them to stay before I had any fun." A sadistic smile, edged with razor-sharp teeth, played at his faceplate. "Their enthusiasm was infectious."

"So I see," remarked Lockdown dryly. "Now, are you going to do your job? Or shall I cancel your contract?"

"Looks like another opportunity I can't pass up."

"You continue to find these opportunities, and you'll have earned a place in my prisons."

Repugnus raised a claw in exasperation, his mandibles grinding in anticipation. "Fine, fine, I'll do it." His maw swung towards the dark-plated mercenary. "The bridge has been blocked off, however. There's no getting in."

Lockdown smirked as his faceguard swung down to reveal a schematic of the ship.

"You leave that to me."

* * *

><p>For once, Wreck-Gar allowed himself to believe that he could win. The remains of his enemies lay strewn about him, a gruesome spectacle to which his stained axe attested. His grim expression of triumph had filled the mercenary army with doubt and uncertainty, which the Junkions took advantage of to drive home a counter-offensive. The bridge was fully secure, as was the level surrounding it, and the weapons systems were back online, firing at the <em>Knight's Temenos<em> in a barrage of plasma and kinetic fire.

That was before his opponents started to retreat, fleeing down the corridors and intersections. His army celebrated, erupting in a war cry that froze their enemies' hearts in terror. _Let them come_, they boasted amongst one another. _No one can stand against our indomitable courage._ Their leader, meanwhile, contemplated this new series of events, and grew ever more worried.

For a relentless mech as Lockdown to suddenly drop his offense meant that he had another trick up his sleeve. As to what exactly this was, Wreck-Gar couldn't tell yet, but it was nothing good. He had his tech team trying to reboot the internal scans, in the effort of finding his enemy, but there wouldn't be enough time. So he went old-fashioned, sending out search parties to comb the ship.

Minutes later, one party reported a brief skirmish with a small group of mercenaries, which they finished off. There were also several casualties, all of them critical. Wreck-Gar wasted no time in setting up a triage center at the bridge, since the guns of the _Temenos_ destroyed the Med-bay, and instructed them to return immediately. Another search party took their place, combing for survivors.

As soon as they arrived, the severity of their injuries was evident. Scorch marks covered most of the wounded; the worst off was actively leaking Energon from various open wounds. Several medics rushed over to the patients, each one barking orders to make space and prepare accommodations. Mechs bustled back and forth, carrying supplies and gear for treatment.

Wreck-Gar kept an optic on them for a while, ensuring that each step was followed to the letter. When he was satisfied with his crewmembers' safety, the Junkion turned to his tech team. He noticed that they were chattering amongst themselves and pointing towards the monitor, apparently excited about something.

"What is it?" he asked. They looked up, each mismatched faceplate expressing a clear, complete dread of their captain.

"_What is it?_" he repeated, bracing for the answer.

"We've fixed the motion trackers, and they seem to be working fine."

"Oh." Wreck-Gar wasn't sure what the problem was, but he realized that wasn't the answer. "And?"

"We only had a crew of 80, and lost about 43 during the battle. This shows 95 onboard."

Too late, Wreck-Gar realized that he had left himself vulnerable. He turned just as various crewmembers around the bridge brought their weapons up, gunning down the rest before they could react. Suddenly, the Junkion found himself staring down the barrel of a black pistol, the plasma payload within emitting a green glow as it heated up. The being aiming the weapon itself raised his faceguard, a victorious smirk evident on his skeletal features.

"_Lockdown_," hissed the Junkion. He remained where he was, one hand on the monitor, defenseless and wholly unprepared. At this moment, his fate rested in the hands of the mercenary.

"Do you really have anything better to say?" the Neutral remarked casually.

Around the bridge, the remaining Junkions removed their holographic projectors, revealing themselves as Lockdown's crew. Wreck-Gar's gaze shifted back to the captain, who cupped a servo over his auditory processor and leaned in, his expression one of extraordinary bemusement.

"_I said_, do you really have anything better to say?"

"Drop the act," said the scavenger. "You've won. Take what you need."

Lockdown's chuckle chilled his prey down to the protoform frame. "Yes, but there's that small matter of what I _want._ Besides, my contract informs me that there is a certain package on your ship. Something to do with a casket, I believe."

Wreck-Gar stared deep into the depths of his opponent's green optics, disbelief sketched upon his metallic faceplate. For a moment, fear – actual fear – was reflected in his expression.

"Why are you interested in that _thing_? It brings nothing but death."

Lockdown sighed, a portrait of exasperation. "You all never learn. So content to cling to your symbols, forever shielding yourself from the truth."

_Shlink._ His hook shot out from his servo, its blade curved in a metallic sneer of wickedness.

"But you can't hide forever," finished the mercenary. "Eventually, you'll have to open your eyes… to find the real prison within."

With one clean stroke, Lockdown struck the downed mech in his chassis, tearing out his spark. It glowed defiantly one last time, and then died down to a dull metallic grey, all life drained from its vessel.

"No one ever escapes their sins," remarked the Neutral, his optics fixed on the carcass of his once-formidable opponent.


	3. Chapter 2

A diminutive mech, his chassis colored blue and grey, yanked at the harness chains tethering the haul to the platform, trying in vain to loosen the bolts. The cargo was relatively simplistic in design, being a rectangular structure of silver metal. Intricate geometrical designs adorned the top and sides of the structure, and a blue orb glowed within an alcove in the middle, pulsating with a rhythm not unlike a sparkbeat. Inscriptions in another language were carved around the edge of the structure, and images of godlike beings adorned the metal areas around the glowing orb. There were twelve of these figures, each one clad in golden armor and carrying a sword and shield, and all of them engaged in battle, stepping over wrecked bodies and broken spears to reach a being that was obsidian-black and wreathed in fire.

Breakdown didn't know the history, however, and wasn't interested in dusty artifacts.

For a Cybertronian, he was small in stature, his height barely reaching the shoulders of the other crewmembers. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but everyone else knew the fact grated on him daily. Sometimes he would chatter on for days without end to cover up the inglorious fact. Other times he would say nothing, keeping to himself and descending into the darkest of moods. He didn't get along well with others, who labeled him with various and sundry tabs and went along with their business. Some were relatively domestic, such as _shadow _and_ midget_. Others were worse, such as _Motor Mouth_ and _Piece of Scrap_.

_The name's Breakdown,_ thought the mech as he finally succeeded in prying one tethering strap loose. _Snap!_ The dark, thick pylon whipped through the air with the sudden expenditure of pressure, and then collapsed onto the chrome deck. Ignoring the sudden occurrence, the mech moved on to the next series of knots, his servos blurring in a nimble dance of dexterity.

"…. And the captain wants this brought up to the bridge? We don't have the space to accommodate it!" complained a nearby mercenary, leaning against one of the many gunmetal grey, cone-shaped boarding ships owned by Lockdown, its metal drill shining with recent sanding. His circle of friends, likewise slacking, had gathered around him in a tight cluster, chuckling at his ill-humored jokes.

One of them looked over towards Breakdown, and smirked. "Say, what's that runt doing here?"

The leader, a hulking, brutish thug, stared over at the smaller Cybertronian as well. "I heard he was placed on sanitation duty again. Apparently he's full of scrap." The smirk could be heard in his voice, despite his faceguard.

His cronies seemed to think this hilarious, and laughed hard, bending over at the hilarity of his words. The ruckus echoed around the loading bay, grating on their target's nerves.

Ignoring their words, Breakdown continued to attend to the cargo, determined not to let them under his chrome finish. And would have, anyways, if the next words had never been uttered.

"Does his alt mode get any shorter?"

Breakdown stiffened, his servos in the midst of reaching for the next tether rope on the cargo containers. The motion, or lack thereof, did not go unnoticed amongst the spectators, who chuckled amongst themselves.

Enough was enough.

The Cybertronian slid down from his perch, grunting slightly as his shock absorbers made contact with the unforgiving metal. He straightened, and then stared pointedly at the group's leader, who crossed his arms across his chest. Even standing up, Breakdown was shorter by a whole torso, and had to literally look upwards to make optic contact.

Suddenly, he was rethinking his decision.

_ Scrap, why does this always happen to me?_

"Lockdown wants this haul" – he jabbed a thumb behind him – "brought up to the bridge. How'd you feel about lending a servo, Dragwing?"

Dragwing clenched one of his servos into a fist.

"I would be more than delighted."

* * *

><p>Lockdown strode towards the cockpit of the <em>Temenos<em>, his emerald optics focused upon the burning wreck that had once been the Junkions' ship. As he watched, the vessel shuddered in a violent spasm, and then drifted apart, small slivers of detritus peeling apart to join the stars.

The metal glinted with the golden reflection of the nearby sun, as if a part of the star had shattered like a mirror. The wreckage was perversely beautiful to behold.

The armored mech stood at Lockdown's side, holding a green datapad in his servos. The glow reflected off of his sharp armor, giving the outline of a multitude of thorns arranged around a blackened shell.

"Captain, if you can spare a few minutes?"

The mercenary looked back over his shoulder, his optics glowing in his sockets.

"We have plenty of time. What is it?"

"I had Breakdown assigned to transport the sarcophagus. However…"

A holographic projection lit up in the space between the mech and Lockdown, showcasing a live video feed. Despite the intermittent static, a large, hulking brute could be seen standing over a smaller, kneeling mech.

"Dragwing decided to start a fight again. He _was_ supposed to leave after we split the bounty, but evidence points to the contrary."

Lockdown turned towards his advisor, an expression of contempt on his faceplate.

"Then I'll have to make him listen."

* * *

><p>Breakdown scrambled away just in time to avoid Dragwing's fist, which slammed into the ground mere inches from his helm. The scout attempted to get back on his feet, but another fist whipped around and made contact with his side. Instantly, he flew backwards, colliding with the netted cargo behind him.<p>

Pain lanced through his back, forcing him to his knees. Breakdown gritted his teeth and got back up. Once he opened his optics, he instantly regretted his decision as his processor began to ache with a vengeance. Then his vision cleared, and Dragwing stepped into view.

"That was pitiful," the brute snorted. "Whatever happened to lending a servo?"

Silence.

"Oh, well…" Dragwing shrugged. "One can't have everything…" – his servos clenched into tightly balled fists – "… so I'll just remember this moment. Over and over again." He raised one arm, prepared to cave in the impudent scout's helm.

The fist shot past Dragwing's smirking faceplate, its trajectory a seeming no-miss. The arm swung wide before closing in on its target, the pressurized atmosphere in the ship swirling past the servo as it would before a speeding bullet. Suddenly, the punch collided with –

Nothing. Breakdown leaned away from the impending strike, rolling away from the impact. Instead, the fist struck the rectangular metallic structure in the middle, where the blue orb resided.

The effect was instantaneous.

Blue streaks of lightning arced up and through Dragwing's chassis. The mercenary had only a few seconds to utter an exclamation of surprise before he was thrown across the cargo bay and into the opposite wall. When his chassis finally came to rest, smoke arose from the wreckage.

Breakdown just stared at the body of his former foe with thinly veiled horror. Primus, if he had touched that blue orb while he was detaching the tow cables… He shuddered with the thought, and then a new thought arose: How _was_ he going to transport cargo like that?

His question was answered when Lockdown stormed into the room. A dark scowl had formed on his faceplate, and his cold, green optics seemed to dissect every mech in the room. It was as if Lockdown had come to hunt them.

Every crewmember snapped to attention, raising their servos in an enclosed fist over their spark in salute. Lockdown scanned all of them, his gaze lingering over each and every faceplate. Then he turned his helm to Dragwing's remains, and his expression of fury suddenly faded, replaced with one of apathy. When he turned once more to address Breakdown, the entire room was silent with bated breath.

"_What happened here?_" he asked quietly, his foreboding tone chilling the sparks of each and every mech in the room. No one dared look at his optics. Then one mech pointed a single, shaking digit. It was aimed at Breakdown.

Lockdown's scowl was one of thunderous disapproval as he strode slowly towards the scout. As he came closer and closer, his faceguard swung downwards, masking whatever expression Lockdown may have betrayed. His servos opened and closed, their digits dancing in the air.

Breakdown stepped away from the silver structure, uncertainty evident on his face. "Captain, I didn't mean to deactivate Dragwing. I had no idea that would happen. Please, if you would hear me out…"

"You have said enough," interrupted Lockdown. He raised a digit, pointing it at the body of Dragwing. "Your opponent has provided all the statements I will ever need." A hook shot out from his forearm, its metallic sheen glinting like moonlight. It curved like a wicked sneer, almost as if it _wanted _to tear something apart.

Breakdown inched backwards until he was side-by-side with his cargo. Lockdown came closer and closer, his hook glinting like silver…

Suddenly, a blue flash rent the air as thunder boomed throughout the cargo hold. The crewmembers observing the event were momentarily blinded, and every mech felt their plating tingle with electricity. For a moment, all anyone could see was blank whiteness…

Then the glow faded. Breakdown lowered his servos from his optics, his surroundings coming into focus. At first, all he saw was a blur of grey metal and the multi-colored blobs of his crewmembers. Then the image sharpened, and he saw them all struggling to rise from the cold floor. Intermittent arcs of blue lightning crackled and arced through the floor, but did not harm any inhabitants in the room. He recognized the aftermath as symptomatic of an EMP attack.

The scout stared upwards, searching for Lockdown. After squinting for a few seconds, he was able to discern his form. Strangely enough, the hook was lowered, hanging limply at his side as Lockdown stared ahead past his target. The faceguard was still lowered, making his expression unreadable, but through the reflection, Breakdown saw steam rising from where the cargo would have been.

He turned around, and his jaw promptly dropped. What he had assumed to merely be a structure of solid metal was instead hollow. The top of the frame had split open like the doors of a sarcophagus, and the blue orb was floating above them, having separated from its alcove. As Breakdown watched, the orb slowly descended into the dark interior, dimly lighting the inside. Ancient languages long since lost to Cybertron lined the inside walls, reciting foreign prayers of fire and stone. At the head of the sarcophagus was one inscription, larger than the others. The scout couldn't read it, but he intuited that it was perhaps the name of the occupant.

With a loud hiss, steam poured out of the container, rushing over the edge and flowing onto the floor. A gust of wind blew from the sarcophagus, warming any nearby observers. Curious about the sudden temperature change, Breakdown dipped his servo into the fog.

He yelped, suddenly yanking his arm away. Even for a Cybertronian, it was unbelievably _hot._

He backed away, but noticed that the fog had no effect on Lockdown. He did note, however, that the arm holding the hook had tensed. In fact, his entire body had gone tight, as if it was prepared to spring upon whatever came out of the sarcophagus. Speaking of tombs…

Breakdown looked back. And did a double take.

A figure had arisen out of the fog, standing in the middle of the sarcophagus. As the surrounding mist obscured it, Breakdown could make out little details. He could see, however, a set of wings on the back of the being, as well as a blocky chassis that was a far cry from the complicated, almost organic smoothness of the other Cybertronians in the room. Whoever it was, was a Seeker once, possibly from an older period of time.

The being collapsed and slumped over the side of the structure, unconscious. That motion alone jolted Lockdown into action as he raced towards the figure, and pulled it from the sarcophagus, further obscuring the being from any further scrutiny.

Breakdown stepped closer, uncertain about what would happen next. Deciding to venture a risk, he raised a servo meekly and spoke out.

"Lockdown?" he asked. "What's going-"

The mercenary's helm whipped around, the faceguard retracted into his cranium. His faceplate bore a calm and collected expression, though his optics were wild and desperate. Breakdown was reminded of a cornered animal, crouching before the fight. Lockdown spoke in an even tone, though his pitch trembled slightly with the immense effort of restraint.

"Call the medics, and help me get him to the medical bay. Then escort the other crews to their ships after the bounty is split."

Breakdown turned towards the nearest monitor when he felt several cold digits creep over his shoulder.

"And," Lockdown hissed, "When we're done, you'll stay with me. We have a lot to talk about."

"Yes, sir," gulped Breakdown.


	4. Chapter 3

_His mind was shattered, wandering through the cracks within Time. What once was, what is, and what will be blended together into a disparate unity of fragments, each one stabbing pain throughout his frame._

_And he had been through so much._

_A city burned in the middle of a plain, black smoke rising to choke the sun's rays into nothingness. Light and Dark collided as several armies met on the battlefield, clashing against one another while Death watched._

_Immortality was at stake._

_And suddenly, he realized that he himself was on fire, engulfed in the flames that ravaged the landscape. Pain and rage lanced throughout his mind, destroying his sanity. In the midst of his throes, he lashed out against those who would consider themselves his betters. _

_He knew better. Knew that they were but remnants, echoes of a far darker and more uncertain time._

_How could they know? They weren't there._

_But he was. And he stood before the gates of the burning city, wreathed in the fire of his rage and desperation. All who looked upon him recoiled in horror, for he was their nightmare personified._

_He was the inferno that raged at the end of all things, burning away all the hope and life and fear and death of existence, for he himself was born of fire and metal._

_They knew what they had wrought._

* * *

><p>He awoke within a metal cage, his servos bound in shackles and chained to the floor. Instantly, fear began to rise within his spark as he cast his gaze about with wild optics. The prison within which he was contained was dark and damp, with drops of moisture dripping from the ceiling to collect in a pool near his chain, which was bolted into the hard and unforgiving floor. Every inch of plating was gunmetal grey, adding to the depressed gloominess of the atmosphere.<p>

Outside the cage, the room was cast into darkness, with only a lone yellow light providing illumination as it hung over the prison. He couldn't see the corners of his room, and the door was nowhere to be seen. Gradually, however, he heard a soft rumbling, not unlike those of a starship's engine. If he had not remained silent, he doubted he would have heard the sound, but there it was.

It took all his effort not to panic, but eventually he calmed down. When he did so, he tried to think back, and remember how he got here. Nothing came up in his memory banks. Even after sitting for a while and staring at the wall until his processor ached, no light could be shed on his origins. There was, however, the dream.

He couldn't remember much of it now, and some details had faded, but one image stood out amongst the rest. _Fire and metal…_

He had seen a burning figure, flames rising from his armor, standing in front of a gate. Behind him, an entire city had burned, as its buildings fell upon one another. Plumes of dust burst upwards from the wreckage, pouring outwards to block out the sun. As the whole scene plummeted into shadow, the figure became a terrifying contradiction of light and dark, the molten cracks on the armor contrasting with the obscure outline of its very being.

The nature of this persona frightened him to his very core. Why, then, was it so familiar?

A sharp rap on the bars startled him, bringing him back to the present reality. His expression must have betrayed his emotions, because the being leaned closer towards him and chuckled. His captor's chassis was colored red and orange, the torso more closely resembling the pectorals and abdomen of an organic being rather than the flat plating of a Cybertronian. His arms began with the norm of square shoulder plates, and then continued the trend downwards until reaching the forearms. Once there, the structure grew softer, once again emulating organic structure with artificial muscles that rounded out the limbs. On each forearm, a square sheath attached to the wrist held a pair of pincers that extended outwards, while a gun barrel poked out the front of each sheath. The servos were also organic in appearance, more closely resembling metallic gauntlets. The legs followed a similar diagram, with square thighs and rounded calves, though the feet were once more square, blocky treads suited to tough terrain.

What was most distinguishing about the being was his faceplate, however. Green optics, edged with a combination of malice and disgust, peered at him as if debating whether or not to tear him apart. His smile was edged with razor-sharp teeth that bespoke of a carnivorous lifestyle. The expression on his faceplate, combined with an intimidating helm of razor-sharp spikes that substituted for what would have been hair, combined to create a truly unpleasant sight to look at.

He recoiled further within the cage, ignoring the mocking laughs of the observer. He had no idea where he was, and to provoke this being would be to visit more trouble on him than he was prepared for.

"Stop, Repugnus. I need to talk with him."

He looked for the source of the voice, though the speaker was nowhere to be seen. Most likely, the mech was hiding in the shadows. Repugnus shifted uncomfortably as he spoke to someone – or something – behind him.

"Are you sure, boss? I don't trust him –"

"It matters little what you make of him," the voice replied evenly. "I am captain, not you."

Repugnus started to walk out of the room, grumbling about having rank pulled on him, though he was stopped by an upraised servo. Despite peering through the bars, he noticed that the servo was pitted and scarred with frequent use, and rough patching.

"I will still need to introduce him. Gather the rest of the team, and come in if I tell you so."

"If? You're really that sure about trusting him?" Repugnus had his faceplate twisted in uncertainty.

"Who said I trusted him?" replied the captain, a hint of amusement in his voice.

His subordinate pondered this remark in silence for a few seconds, and then grinned as widely as his faceplate would allow. His optics had widened in deranged anticipation as he chuckled slightly.

"Whatever you say, captain," Repugnus said playfully, before saluting, one fist over his spark, and striding out the door. The red and orange mech giggled the entire way, smiling like a demon.

"Now, then…" said the voice. "My designation is Lockdown. My function is defined by my employers, though I am most often a bounty hunter…" The voice paused, allowing the words to sink in. "…But on this ship, you will address me as captain. Understood?"

The being within the prison nodded, his processor pondering the implications of his captor's statement. _A bounty hunter, huh?_ He briefly wondered whether he was going to be turned over to some other mech, or sold as a slave.

"What is your designation, prisoner?" asked Lockdown.

He thought hard for a moment, once again combing whatever was left of his memory banks. Nothing turned up once again, and his mind went blank. Trying to contain his frustration, he lifted his helm to speak. Then, as if out of a half-remembered dream, a name floated to the surface of his psyche, drifting on the still waters of his unformed memories.

_Silverbolt…_

"Silverbolt," he whispered, rolling the syllables around on his tongue. Then he raised his voice, deep and raspy from disuse, and repeated: "My designation is Silverbolt."

Lockdown was silent for a few moments. Silverbolt could not tell whether the being was pondering the significance of his name, or simply choosing a way to kill him. Either way, his life was at the mercy of a bounty hunter, and he didn't know what course of action his captor would choose. Then Lockdown stepped out of the shadows surrounding the prison, and the prisoner sucked in his breath.

The mercenary was covered all over in pitch-black and grey plating, allowing him to blend into the darkness. His lithe frame had also allowed him to remain silent, as it paced towards him like an insidious snake, weaving from place to place as his cold, green optics studied his prey with the unwavering gaze of a predator. His overall frame was sleek, almost organic in its structure, and it performed smoothly, its pistons and plating sliding in and out without a sound. It appeared to be a standard frame, however, with few combat modifications to be seen on him.

Silverbolt wasn't fooled. He was sure Lockdown had several hundred weapon and armor enhancements hidden beneath his plating, ready to be deployed in the split second it took for its user to issue a neural command.

Lockdown's skeletal faceplate remained blank, though the prisoner could tell that his mind was hard at work dissecting his words. Then he spoke again.

"What, then, is your function?" he asked with cautious trepidation.

Once again, Silverbolt searched his memory, straining to bring up even one facet of his life. This time, the waters of his memory remained impassably calm, a flowing mirror that separated his mind from its murky depths. He could tell that the very bottom was dark indeed, but he could not reach its depths to properly explore it.

"I… I can't remember," he stated to Lockdown, an expression of genuine confusion written upon his faceplate.

"Explain," ordered Lockdown. He crossed his arms across his chest, his optics silently doubting Silverbolt's words.

"I just don't know. Every time I try to remember, everything comes up blank," Silverbolt said. "I mean, I remember the basics. How to recharge, how to talk, and even how to transform." His faceplate twisted into frustration as he continued. "But when I try to pull out specific details, such as how old I am, or where I'm from, my mind… It just locks up on its own. I don't even know what my alt form is."

Lockdown nodded slowly, mulling over Silverbolt's words. It made sense, really, that he didn't remember anything. Otherwise, his prisoner's reaction to his presence would have been quite different. Scrap, the prison bars wouldn't have been an obstacle at all.

He didn't give any indication to his thoughts, maintaining his blank demeanor, yet his posture changed slightly. His body relaxed just the smallest bit, settling into its familiar stance. After a few more seconds of contemplation, he made up his mind. Striding over to the locking mechanism that held the door in place, he tapped on the touchscreen, and then entered the precise combination, his servos gliding over the Cybertronian codes. After it was entered, he pressed his servo to the scanner, where it read his cyber-metrics and evaluated his identity. A red beam of light began at the bottom of the scanner and moved upwards, creating an outline of Lockdown's servo within the square block that held the sensors.

The enormous, heavy bolt holding the door in place slid upon with a loud _boom_, jolting Silverbolt into a defensive posture. At the same time, the cuffs that had bound the prisoner's arms to the ground clicked open, releasing him. Then, creaking slowly with age and rust, the door swung outwards, banging into place at the end of its arc. Lockdown stood to the side of the door and held his arm outwards as a chauffeur would for a passenger, and then dropped it to his side.

Silverbolt, realizing the opportunity he had been granted, slowly crept out of the cage, before straightening upwards into a bipedal stance. He stretched, holding one arm up as the other bent in relief. Then he dropped both arms to his side and turned, looking into Lockdown's face with equal measures distrust and confusion.

"So," he began. "What's next?"

"Originally, I had planned to keep you locked up in here, and let you rust for ages until you deactivated," explained Lockdown. "But, against my better judgment and every principle I stand for… I will allow you to go free." The bounty hunter sounded almost disappointed, as if he'd wanted an excuse to keep Silverbolt in captivity.

"I hear a but," replied Silverbolt.

"But," agreed Lockdown, "There will be a condition for your release. You must work as a member of my crew, and undertake each and every task I assign you. Loyalty will be expected, as will be competency. Failure," the mercenary looked back at the dark cage, driving home his point, "will land you right back where we started. In the grave."

"Then I have no choice but to accept," Silverbolt said. "What will be your first orders?"

Lockdown typed a command into a wrist-mounted display, before turning to face the wall. A slit of white light opened at the bottom, and then rose higher and higher, forming the shape of a door. Blinded by the sudden brightness, Silverbolt squinted, but was unable to make out much detail beyond the obvious glow. Lockdown, on the other hand, activated his faceguard, its polarizing visor lowering to dim the glow.

"Before you can follow my orders, Silverbolt," Lockdown said, his visor reflecting the white light until his faceplate could no longer be seen, "you must first understand why you are here. And to know your place, you must first meet my crew."

Silverbolt paused for a moment, his optics adjusting to the brightness. Then he glanced uncertainly at Lockdown.

"Aren't you going to go on ahead?" he asked.

"I believe it would be better for you – and my crew – if you were to make introductions first. You are the new recruit, after all."

Silverbolt looked back towards the open door, and then, slowly, paced towards the brightly lit room. As he came closer and closer towards the light, it surrounded him, reflecting off his chassis until he himself glowed like a star. The brilliant illumination stripped away all detail, until all there was to be seen was a blinding starkness. The condition echoed throughout his mind like a promise, at once full of hope and torturous in its potential.

_You must first understand why you are here…_

* * *

><p>Lockdown waited until Silverbolt had left the room before he allowed his faceguard to retract. An expression of worry had stolen over his faceplate, and his optics regarded the open doorway with scrutiny. If he was to believe what he knew, and that happened often, then his entire ship was in danger.<p>

Scrap, his _life_ was in danger.

As he watched the retreating back of Silverbolt, Lockdown planned through every measure he would need, evaluated every tool he had at his disposal. Methods were shuffled through and pruned based on merit, until Lockdown had amassed a tactical arsenal. Most of the materials needed for these countermeasures were already on his ship. The trick was gathering them discretely, without anyone noticing.

If Silverbolt gave him a single excuse, Lockdown would offline the mech.


	5. Chapter 4

The corridor beyond was brighter than the previous room, and, instead of the subdued grey of the prison, glistened with a silvery sheen. Every inch of plating was clean and reflective, a stark contrast to the grimy and damp gloominess of the prison behind him. The starkness of the white light seemed to wash over the plates as if it could pierce the metal and seep into the circuitry beneath, cutting the façade into ribbons like aluminum foil.

It certainly felt that way to Silverbolt, who blinked as he adjusted to the brighter lighting. As his footsteps echoed through the space, he realized that he wasn't quite as alone as he had thought. The freed captive had felt the presence before he saw them, but he was still surprised when he looked up, his optics finally optimized for the light setting. Lockdown's crew had an appearance as diverse as the bounty hunter himself, with three male and two female mechs standing in a semicircle around their newest recruit. At the periphery of his vision, Silverbolt noticed one of them lose tension. The implication was not lost on him, as he realized that the crew did not entirely trust him. Fair enough. He'd find out why later.

As if stirred by his thoughts, the mercenaries shifted and glanced amongst each other, apparently holding a heated whispering match over who was going to speak. Then they all came upon an agreed consensus, at which point they shoved forward a small blue and grey mech, his helm barely reaching Silverbolt's shoulders.

His optics were a golden yellow, housed within a red faceplate on top of which was a blue helmet. This, in turn, was housed atop a blue and grey torso. His arms started off with one grey wheel substituting as a shoulder for each side, which led into a sharply angled forearm, which had blue plating. These had backwards-facing elbow blades, painted red, that curved backwards in an arc, approximately as long as his forearm itself. His legs followed a similar format, with grey thighs and blue calves, and red knee-guards as sharp as his blades. His ankles were made up of grey wheels that were the same as those on his shoulders, indicating that his alternate form was that of a ground-based transport.

The suddenly nominated speaker shot a glare at his companions, before turning to the newcomer. Then he cleared his windpipe, and turned his optics upwards – he had to look almost straight up just to look at Silverbolt's faceplate – to speak. His expression was one of slight frustration, most likely at being singled out, although it became one of neutrality as soon as he spoke.

"Erm," he began so elaborately, "So… this ship you're on… It's the _Knight's Temenos_, and we're its crew_. _Lockdown must have told you about your conditions."

Silverbolt nodded, his helm dipping ever so slightly. "He told me that I would work as one of you," he replied. "My designation's Silverbolt."

"Ok… what's your function?" he asked, his servos raising for an instant and then dropping to his sides awkwardly.

"I don't really remember," Silverbolt responded.

This prompted a small ripple of snickering and elbowing amongst the mercenaries, Repugnus looking down to try and hide his smirk. Instantly, Silverbolt felt a hot wave of embarrassment play across his faceplate and down his neck.

I don't remember? What kind of an answer was that?

Breakdown wasn't laughing, however. Instead, he turned quickly, staring his teammates into silence with a sharp glare. The mech turned back to address Silverbolt, but now his expression was slightly different – even sympathetic.

"We'll help you find out later," he said. "Right now, we're just making introductions. My name's Breakdown, by the way. I'm what you'd call a field intelligence officer – just a scout, really. As for the rest of my crew…"

The leftmost crewmember, a female mech, took one step from the others, breaking the oppressive stare of the others as they all turned towards her. Her color scheme was a combination of purple and black, with a black helmet, its optic openings lined with gold, concealing a purple faceplate. Her breastplate was a combination of gold and black plating, while the lower half of her torso was purple. Slender purple upper arms led into black forearms, which were attached to purple digits. Likewise, purple thighs led into black calves and feet. The most striking feature, however, were the multiple _other_ limbs that, located on her back, spread around the entirety of her body like a protective cocoon. They reminded Silverbolt of an arachnid, strangely enough.

"I'm the central intelligence agent for this ship – in layman's terms, a spy," she said, her purple optics making visual contact with Silverbolt's own. "My designation's Blackarachnia."

The next mech to the right stepped forward, once again shifting the attention of the group. Unlike Blackarachnia, the bulkier limbs and torso indicated the mech as being male, who was entirely covered in light tan plating, with only his black helm and a green visor covering his optics breaking the color scheme. His ankle joints and shoulders, like Breakdown, were comprised of the wheels of his vehicle mode, although they glowed blue with Energon. His limbs were formed completely of hard angles and flat surfaces, much like Silverbolt's frame, although his torso held more complex geometry, with a brown breastplate that spread across his torso and a tool belt that encircled his waist.

"I'm Swindle, co-engineer and business manager of the _Knight's Temenos_. If you need a quick, cheap fix to your problems, or, more often, a good drink to wash away your sorrows…" A sly grin spread across his grey faceplate, at once reassuring and calculating. Silverbolt instantly distrusted the mech. "…Then I'm the guy to head to!"

"And if you need _quality _attention to something tech-related," the female mech to his right said, moving next to Swindle to give him a playful jab in the side as he rolled his optics, "then you may want to consult me."

Unlike Blackarachnia, this female mech had an entirely blue-green color scheme that contrasted with a grey faceplate, thighs, and feet. There were no limbs protruding from her back to speak of, although a silver gauntlet, one painted with the black outline of a gun and the other with the black outline of a shield, covered each of her wrists, and two small hovercraft rotors extended from her back like wings. One of her servos held a gunmetal grey wrench that was pitted and scarred with wear and tear; despite its rough condition, she held it close as if her life depended on it.

"The designation is Nautica," she chirped cheerfully, "and I'm co-engineer along with Swindle. Nice to meet you, Silverbolt!"

The red mech to her right, whom Silverbolt had seen in the prison room, simply leaned back against the wall, a dirty grin on his face edged with razor-sharp teeth. "And I'm Repugnus. We met earlier back there."

Silverbolt nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned towards the right-most mech on the end of the line. Unlike the rest of the crew, this one held himself with an air of command, standing ramrod straight and staring at him. His appearance was also vastly different from the varying shades and colors of his comrades, with jagged obsidian-black armor that was covered entirely in curved metal thorns that stuck out in every which direction. One of his servos rested upon a curved gunmetal grey scabbard on his waist, a red hilt sticking out. His faceplate was unseen, hidden behind a visor that resembled a knight's. Two red optics peered out, burning in the blackness they were surrounded by, as they scrutinized Silverbolt.

When the mech did not answer, Silverbolt grew confused. "Erm, what's your designation?"

"Sorry, he's a bit on the quiet side," Repugnus answered for him. "He's Bludgeon, the Lieutenant of the _Knight's Temenos_." He leaned in, as if sharing a secret, and whispered, "We actually call him the Zombie, but don't let him in on that."

"Ah," was Silverbolt's reply. He looked back up at Bludgeon, but the mech appeared not to have heard that comment. Instead, he straightened up even more, his gaze lifting towards someone behind him. Silverbolt turned around as Lockdown strode out of the prison room, his visor concealing any expression he may have had.

"Any questions that you have will be answered… eventually," the mercenary cautioned. "For now, you will room with a member of the crew, who will show you the ropes, so to speak." His glance swept over the assorted crew, from the annoyed expression of Breakdown to the silent brooding of Bludgeon. Then his optics swept back, and settled upon the left-most mech in the line.

"Breakdown, why don't you accommodate our newest member?" the captain asked.

"Me?" Surprise flashed across Breakdown's faceplate, quickly followed by irritation. "Why don't you just ask Swindle or Repugnus?"

Lockdown glanced at Swindle, who proceeded to whistle as he quickly hid a stack of credits behind him, and Repugnus, who bared his teeth in a snarl.

"I feel this arrangement would be for the best interests of all parties involved," Lockdown reprimanded. "Besides, Silverbolt has shown himself to be a sincere individual."

Breakdown stammered for a moment, failing to create an excuse. Then he simply nodded, and said, "Yes, sir."

"Very well. You are all dismissed," Lockdown concluded.

Each crewmember slightly relaxed their stance, and turned behind them to leave. Swindle walked with Nautica, chatting about the profit-to-cost ratio of a transwarp engine, while Blackarachnia strode briskly ahead of the two and Repugnus strolled along behind them. Breakdown waited for Silverbolt to catch up with him, and then walked with him, always staying about two steps ahead of the newcomer.

When Silverbolt looked backwards, he noticed that Bludgeon had stepped closer to Lockdown, his back turned to those departing. The swordsman suddenly tilted his helm slightly, as if to look behind him, but then turned back just as quickly.

The silver mech turned back towards Breakdown and asked, "Do you know where we'll be rooming?"

"Yeah, it's right down this way," the scout explained tiredly, apparently having gone through this routine before. "Just follow me…"

* * *

><p>Lockdown watched the crew leave as he handed a datapad to Bludgeon, its blue screen glowing with the list assorted upon it. As the Lieutenant scrolled through, one of his servos reached down to rest on his sword hilt, a nervous habit honed in a time that prioritized lethality over peace. After a moment of silence, his red optics rose to settle upon Lockdown's visor, either mech doing his best to conceal their thoughts.<p>

At last, the armored swordsman spoke. "Will this be all?" asked Bludgeon, his voice coarse and deep in the silence.

"You know what to do," Lockdown replied simply.

* * *

><p><strong>The designs for the main characters are inspired by several different sources, so here goes:<strong>

**Silverbolt's design is based on WFC/FOC Silverbolt, including the color scheme. **

**Blackarachnia is based off of a combination of her _Transformers: Animated_ appearance and Airachnid from _Transformers: Prime_.  
><strong>

**Swindle is based off of his appearance in FOC, although he has a brown chestplate and a tool belt around his waist. **

**Nautica is indeed an actual character, and comes from IDW's _More Than Meets the Eye_. Her color scheme has been changed to blue-green, however, and she has two silver gauntlets with the outlines of a gun and a shield painted on them. **

**Repugnus is similar to his G1 and IDW appearance, if those designs were crossed with those of a retro Iron Man (you know, the ones with the metal looking impossibly like gloves and muscles?). He also doesn't have a helmet to speak of - just the weird, spiky "hair". **

**Bludgeon is a bit more of an original appearance. While he's still good with a sword, as ever, his design is based off of the appearance of the Dinobots in Age of Extinction, and, with the exception of the thorns, his armor looks more like a knight's than a samurai's. **

**Lockdown's appearance is the same as in Age of Extinction, as the story takes place in a version of the Movieverse. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Transformers. The rights for that franchise belong to Hasbro, although this interpretation is mine. **


	6. Chapter 5

The wreckage of the Junkions' ship spun in the void, its torn metal gleaming in slivers of light as the molten sun bathed the detritus in hues of gold and orange. Any fires that had smoldered from the battle had died in the cold emptiness, leaving behind black scorch marks that streaked across the hull and throughout the ship's innards. Glass fragments surrounded broken windows, frozen in time, spinning in a slow, elegant dance.

A lone, formless being stared out of one such window, standing upon the metallic floor despite the lack of gravity. Around the black silhouette was strewn the remains of the bridge, clouds of dust swirling in space. Rays of sunlight filtered through, illuminating the scene with a warm, muted tone. The bodies of the Junkion crew floated around the space, their optics no longer glowing, their frames riddled with bullet holes and slashed with a sharp edge.

The silhouette stood taller than the Junkions, its blank surface devoid of any distinguishing feature. Light appeared to disappear within the being, its form darker than the void between stars and absent of all life. The only feature that distinguished it from the lifeless environment were a pair of red optics, glowing within the being's head with a molten intensity that carried a desperation and rage borne of centuries of existence.

Slowly, it turned around, its gaze sweeping over the bodies left in the bridge, passing over the contorted expressions of agony upon the Junkions' faceplates. These were not what it was seeking. They were merely pawns; of no importance within the sum of experiences they called a life.

A small crack of emotion surged within the being's spark, if it could be called that, and it tried to push the sensation away. The living had a name for the feeling, though the being had long moved on from such small manners of thinking. As it brooded in its thoughts, the being's optics finally alighted upon the very mech he had been seeking. The shadow blurred, if for an instant, and it was suddenly hovering in the midst of the bodies, its faceplate matching the dead plea in the cadaver's optics.

Wreck-Gar, in his death throes, had contorted into a fetal position as he drifted, his mouth open in an unending scream. His torso was torn apart, the spark core now an empty cavity, devoid of a glow that would have signified life. Shards of his armor encircled him, creating a ring of detritus.

The being ruefully considered this turn of events, as the being he had sought was now dead. After a moment in thought, it extended an arm towards Wreck-Gar, its fingertips barely brushing the lifeless face. Slowly, the black essence that made up the figure began to run like liquid rivers down the arm, over the fingers, and onto the corpse's face, eventually flowing into the empty optic sockets. Silent moments passed as the shadow manipulated his essence, connecting it to the necessary nerve endings in the processor.

Memories washed over the being as it read the imprints left by experience, feeding them into its mind. Its consciousness was filled with Wreck-Gar's life – the moment he was created by his parents, his childhood in the slums, joining the Autobots in the new Cybertronian civil war, and, of course, befriending Springer, Ultra Magnus, and others. For some time, the Junkion had known the closest thing to what the living called "peace".

Once more, the emotion surged in the intruder, and once more it pushed the thought away.

When his final moments came, the shadow was prepared. Love, friendship, and happiness – they were alien to it, and brushed aside within its psyche. The pain was familiar, however. It could deal with the experience just fine. The deluge ended when it saw an onyx-black Neutral, judging by his green optics, ripping Wreck-Gar's spark out of his core.

So. He was the one to find next. The being pulled the liquid shadows out of the processor and through the optics, running up his digits and arm. Then, with one finger, it pushed the corpse away, sending it drifting into the shadowy corners of the room. It blurred again, and suddenly it was outside the ship. The being turned, glancing at the glowing wreckage one last time, its shattered metal glowing like lost gold. Once again, it extended an arm.

Like a speeding bullet, the arm stretched outwards to impossible lengths as its fist slammed into the ship, sending shards flying in every which direction as the doomed vessel was altered on a trajectory course with the nearby sun. Satisfied that its work was done, it retracted the arm and turned, simply gliding away into the blackness.

As it sifted through new paths in its journey, it remembered the name of the sensation it had experienced as it watched Wreck-Gar's life.

It was envy.


	7. Chapter 6

Silverbolt came online slowly, his systems running a diagnostics check as he sat up and stretched his arms. Pistons wheezed and gears clicked into place, the elegant machinery of Cybertronian life slowly stirring. When he opened his optics, a barrage of multi-colored notifications assaulted his vision, his audial receptors beeping with each line of text.

**Spark core energy: 87% **

**Sensory cables: 59% activated, charging additional systems**

**Energon levels: Sub-optimal. Recommendation: Locate and utilize local power sources.**

Feeling slightly annoyed, he closed each alert, the windows shrinking into their respective thumbnail on the right side of his vision. There, a column of symbols stood stacked one atop the other. Some he knew the function to, such as the blue cube that represented Energon levels. Others, such as a shield icon, he didn't remember how to work, and left alone. He didn't particularly care to burn down his roommate's space just yet.

The stack of symbols slid into the right edge of his vision, until it was completely free of holographic projections. Satisfied, he swung his pedes over the side of his recharging pod and planted them upon the metallic floor, and then stood. Lowering his wings to avoid the grey ceiling, Silverbolt suddenly realized how tall he was, towering over the pod that had accommodated him.

"Well, look who's up."

Silverbolt turned his helm towards the source of the voice and saw Breakdown, seated in the only chair in the room, hunched over a blue glow he deduced to be a computer monitor. The scout was typing away at the keyboard in a manic speed, his digits blurring over the buttons as lines of text sprawled across the screen.

"What are you writing?" Silverbolt asked, transfixed by the speed at which Breakdown was progressing. It was like watching a snake grow in a time-lapse, slithering its way down the page in neat rows from left to right.

"It's a report Bludgeon assigned to me. I had to go outside the ship, take a look at the hull density and composition, and report on the damage. Then, I calculate the amount of material displaced," the scout summarized matter-of-factly. "And that still doesn't cover the internal damage, as well as the materials used by our crew during all this." At the look of confusion on the other mech's faceplate, Breakdown clarified. "All I do is look at what happened to the ship and identify the problems. I leave the cost management and construction planning to Swindle and Nautica, and everyone else helps by performing the actual grunt work."

Silverbolt whistled, impressed by the detail involved in the assignment. "What happened to the ship?"

Breakdown went still for a moment, silence filling the room. Then he responded, "An asteroid hit it."

The other mech just stared. "An asteroid? That's _really_ what happened?"

Breakdown turned and looked into Silverbolt's optics for a few seconds, gauging his reaction. Then he grinned, chuckling as he gave the answer. "To be honest, our pilot's really not the best."

_Oh Primus, Nautica's going to kill me if she hears of this,_ the scout inwardly groaned.

Silverbolt just scrutinized him for a few more moments. Then he backed away, raising his servos in mock surrender. "All right, I believe you," he said. "So, are you nearly done with your report, or something? I haven't had some low-grade Energon in a while."

"I'm almost finished," came the reply. "Give me a few more minutes."

"Alright," Silverbolt answered. He paced back over to his recharge pod and sat upon it, waiting for Breakdown.

The entire time, his thoughts wandered, split between the burning figure and the mechs on this ship. One question remained in his mind, though he dared not ask anyone. Lockdown was most likely listening, and he had no wish of returning to the prison.

_Where did I come from?_

* * *

><p>Silverbolt and Breakdown could hear the raucous laughter as they neared the doors leading to the circular Break Room, followed by the slamming of fists on a table, and a round of excited murmuring that that would occasionally erupt into another round of yelling. Silverbolt jumped as the fists began to slam again, while Breakdown simply sighed and shook his head. Right as they arrived at the entrance, Breakdown pulled Silverbolt to the side, despite his smaller size, and looked up to make his point.<p>

"Now, before you walk through those doors, before you even _think _of going in, let me help you with some ground rules," the scout stated. Silverbolt was suitably confused, thought he let him speak.

"Firstly," Breakdown ordered, "be careful around Repugnus and Swindle. Those guys will prank you at some point. Don't trust what Swindle says, either. He's a good con man, and that's the only reason he's on our ship."

Silverbolt nodded, making sure to follow every word.

"Secondly, combat training sessions take place right after the second break here, so be ready. Now, since we were partnered together, we work as maintenance on the outside of the hull, so I'm essentially your instructor. As for your trainer…" – he shrugged – "may Primus have mercy on you. Finally…"

Breakdown held up a thick wad of credits in front of the other mech's faceplate. "Be aware about what's going on. Seriously, I just stole all of your money without even trying."

Silverbolt blinked. Then his features set into an expression of exasperation. "Can you give it back?"

Breakdown just chuckled. "Come on, what kind of a question is that?" He held the credits behind his back as Silverbolt lunged for it. "Aw, now you're not even trying."

"I'm asking you, just give it back!" huffed Silverbolt.

"How about we play a game?" Breakdown asked. "I'm hiding, and you're it…"

"Get back here!"

Silverbolt chased Breakdown in a circle around the entire Break Room, the scout laughing the entire way.

* * *

><p>The inhabitants of the Break Room fell silent as the doors opened, Repugnus frozen in the midst of arm-wrestling Swindle at a table of their own, Nautica and Blackarachnia looking towards the door in hushed anticipation. Even Bludgeon straightened from his seat at a table in the corner of the room, his optics fixated upon the entrance.<p>

Had Breakdown and the new recruit arrived? Tiny whispers flitted amongst the team members, who shifted uncomfortably in the silence. The nearby window that overlooked the upper side of the _Knight's Temenos_ reflected the light of the stars on the glinting hull, casting a square of silvery light upon the metallic floor. The result was a quiet, muted atmosphere that was filled with glinting surfaces, the only other illumination coming from a series of golden-hued lights set in the ceiling. The result was as if the sun and the moon were setting at the same time, the light combining to create a calming atmosphere.

That very calm was shattered when two forms barreled through the doorway, one triumphantly waving one of his arms in the air, the other lunging for that same limb. Suddenly, they both stopped in the room, hunching over as their air intakes wheezed. Breakdown had his back towards the window as he straightened and held up the stack of credits again, while Silverbolt simply glared at him from across the room. A row of five tables was situated on either side of the room, while the two Cybertronians took up the space in between the rows.

"Now," Silverbolt panted, "can you just give it back? We're done running!"

"You still didn't ask the question," chided Breakdown.

"Wha-," Silverbolt began. Complete and utter frustration, laced with confusion, appeared on his features. "I've been asking the whole time!" He held his palms out in a conciliatory gesture, and asked, "Now will you _please_ give the money back-" His optics widened in surprise as Breakdown simply grinned and dropped the stack in the outstretched palms.

"Why…" Silverbolt exclaimed.

"See," laughed Breakdown, "sooner or later everyone remembers the question!"

The entire Break Room erupted in laughter, Repugnus snorting as he bent over his drink while Swindle looked on with a wry grin. Nautica giggled while Blackarachnia simply scoffed and looked out the window. Even Bludgeon seemed to be amused, his shoulders shaking as he fought to remain silent.

"You're kidding me…" Silverbolt muttered, glaring at his roommate. Breakdown smiled innocently in response as he bowed low, spreading his arms out as he did so. When he straightened, the smile became a more sincere one, filled with genuine amusement. He pointed a digit towards the left side of the room.

"The Energon's over there," he said simply, and then walked over to the very spot. Silverbolt stood for a short moment, and then followed, shaking his head. Any thoughts of annoyance had gone, replaced with a silent mirth at the hilarity of the situation.

It was hard to remain irritated with Breakdown.


	8. Chapter 7

**Alright, I'm back from the holidays, school, and... other things. Here's the next chapter, all finished and ready! Also, I plan to upload _at least_ one chapter per week, but the schedule's crazy right now. I'll see what I can do. **

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><p>After the incident that was first break, Silverbolt and Breakdown walked down another hallway, this time plated with a dark, rusty metal. The lights that were situated in the ceiling glowed with an iridescent white light, creating a starkness that made the mechs' optics tire with fatigue. The doors that led to the hull were bulkier than those within the ship's interior, consisting of two 9-meter thick plates that sandwiched a maze of detection sensors and intruder "detention" measures, and were painted red. Breakdown had even told Silverbolt that each door was outfitted with a wireless detonator connected to an EMP device, in the event that the entrance happened to be compromised.<p>

As they approached the airlock, bright red warning labels began to appear on the walls and doors, ranging from simple **Do Not Slip** messages to **Caution: Electricity Hazard** notifications. The last one they passed read: **Explosive Hazard: Flammable Materials Prohibited**.

"You're joking, right?" Silverbolt asked, his faceplate bent into an expression of doubt.

"The airlocks are the most vulnerable points in a ship," Breakdown responded, his expression deadly serious. "Keeping them intact are important to structural integrity, as they're one of the few ways one can enter the inside, where the crew's quarters and stations are located." The scout stopped for a moment, forcing Silverbolt to pause besides him, and raised a red digit towards another set of double doors that branched off of the main the hallway. These were branded yellow, instead of the red markings on those leading towards the airlock.

"Any salvageable materials that we bring in are stored in those chambers. In the past, we've received things from unrefined metal left behind by asteroids, to the cores of dead stars. Because of this, said cells are suspended within an artificial gravity well. This nullifies any consequences of bending the laws of physics," Breakdown explained.

Silverbolt nodded for moment, understanding only the general ideas of what he just heard. "That must have been expensive to install," he acknowledged. "How'd you even get this stuff?"

Breakdown allowed himself to smirk for a moment before clarifying: "Actually, it was Swindle who handled the deals and Nautica who looked over the tech and refined it. The process involved several Decepticons, a late night, and lots of high-grade Energon, but it was worth it."

The two mechs walked on again, passing through the maze of corridors and security scans until they reached the actual airlock.

Once more, Breakdown launched into a lecture. "I was assigned to be one of your two instructors, so I'll introduce you to the grunt work you'll be doing." He raised a digit and punched in a combination code on the lock, and a window slid open within the airlock, letting in a beam of silvery starlight and a view of the outside.

Silverbolt was stunned by the spectacle that met his optics, as numerous stars dotted the inky blackness. They all formed a cluster of light, drifting amidst an endless void, and shone with a silvery iridescence that was a dimension apart from the simple starkness within the corridor. The mech was enthralled, glancing over every object in the heavens. He'd known that he was on board a starship, and traveling through space, though the description could not do the experience any justice.

All of a sudden, he realized just how little he remembered of spaceflight. Silverbolt knew that he'd traveled before – he was accustomed to the strange tilts and quirks of artificial gravity – but this was the first clear image of the stars in his mind.

A hard nudge in his side edged him back towards reality, and he looked back down towards the slightly confused visage of Breakdown.

"Hey, are you okay?" the scout asked, his red faceplate bent in concern. "You kind of disappeared for a moment."

"I'm fine," Silverbolt clarified. "I just haven't seen the stars in so long, I've forgotten a bit of what they looked like."

"Really?" asked Breakdown. "You look like someone who gets around." He gestured to the wings on Silverbolt's back, as if to reinforce his message.

"I probably did, once upon a time," the mech replied. "But I don't remember when, or where, or anything else, really. It's like I had a map" – he reached out one servo towards the window, his digits outstretched – "and someone just took it for themself." The digits clenched, becoming a fist.

Breakdown placed a servo on Silverbolt's lower arm, pulling the fist back down. "Hey, don't worry," he reassured the other mech. "We're still just starting here. Don't get impatient."

Silverbolt turned towards Breakdown, a reluctant half-smile on his faceplate. "And what if I can't finish?"

Breakdown held his arms out to his sides in a conciliatory gesture. "That's what I'm here for, right?"

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><p>Breakdown stepped closer towards the antennae that contained the <em>Knight's Temenos<em> communications array, on the top half of the ship. The hull he was standing on was a dark, almost black material that was pitted and scarred with collisions from various space junk and debris, separated into serrated plates that more closely resembled the bones of some enormous organism rather than the smooth uniformity of a machine.

His magnetic treads had been activated upon stepping out of the airlock, allowing the scout to move about the hull without trouble. Silverbolt, on the other hand, nearly flew out the door, and would have drifted off if Breakdown hadn't reached up in time. The incident was followed by a tutorial on properly activating and using magnetic treads, as well as a _long_ reminder on safety rules.

Silverbolt was now standing next to Breakdown near the antennae as well, his optics trained on a large hunk of metal that had lodged itself into a dent in the hull. Unlike the uniformity and, well, _solidity_ of the ship, the wreckage's metal had contorted into a slightly jagged ball, from which a line of dust spiraled off into the empty void. Cracks lined the crumpled plating, making the object look like more a wad of crushed paper than a part of some ship or asteroid.

"I assume we'll be trying to move that?" Silverbolt asked, an edge of doubt creeping into his voice.

"Absolutely."

The silver-plated mech blinked. "What?"

Breakdown turned towards him with a grin on his red faceplate, and Silverbolt suddenly felt a drop of oil run down his forehead. "Uhm…"

"Come on, it's not that hard!" Breakdown complained, rubbing an elbow into Silverbolt's ribs.

Silverbolt simply grimaced as he attempted to ignore the sharp edge of Breakdown's elbow and pushed the arm away. "Yeah, right… What do we need to do?"

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><p>Lockdown stepped into his living quarters, the metal-plated hatch squealing into place on rusty hinges. Raising his right hand to the red screen on the left of the door, he activated the multiple cyber-metric and Energon scanners within the door's locking mechanism, after which he slid the main bolt into place.<p>

_Click._

Lifting his gaze from the scanner, Lockdown strode with slow, almost hesitant steps towards the center. All around the room, fluorescent blue lights replaced every inch of metal plating, making the walls, floor, and ceiling appear to glow. Not a single inch of darkness was to be seen on any surface, every space and crevice having been illuminated in a soft glow.

There was no furniture, either. No recharge pod was to be seen, nor any windows in the wall.

However, in the center of the room, there was a smooth, black box, with a golden keyhole in its front. On its left was an obsidian black key, its surface shining like a wet rock, the circlet at the end of its handle sharp and jagged with spikes. Simple golden letters, square and without curves of any sort, traced out a shining name in the length of the handle: _Promise. _

"Thank you, Bludgeon," Lockdown whispered, hushed and still in the silence of the room. Then he bent his knees and kneeled down before the black box, picking up the black key and sliding it into the keyhole. For a moment, he paused. Then he let out a long breath, the exhalation misting in the air, and turned the key. The box clicked, the ancient lock unwinding at last, and opened slightly, a small crack in the otherwise blank surface indicating a lid. Dry, dead air sighed out of the crack, freed from its centuries-old prison.

Lockdown rose from his kneeling position, planting both feet on the ground. Still holding the box, he looked down at its contents, remembering both the joys and the sorrows that they brought.

Suspended upon a fine bed of white cloth, three green darts were laid parallel to one another, their ends pointing towards either end of the box's length.


End file.
